Ear plugs are a necessity. The majority of this years calves are now all home in the barns after being rather, to their thinking, brutally weaned.
Only six calves remain with their Mums out in the fields. All born to heifers who were put to the bull after he had been taken out of the herd.
The bull is now surrounded by his bawling offspring, all bull calves, who still want to be with Mum out in the fields. Must be wondering whether paternity is such a fun task after all.
The heifer calves are in another yard as I am afraid after one or two incestuous incidents, we do not want the same mistakes being sprung on us next year.
Funnily enough the cows, after a night of bawling back at the calves, quickly settled into their childless routine and were happily distracted by the arrival of fresh silage to supplement their dwindling grass diet.
It is only a short time now until it is the sheep who will be being serenaded. Not by their lambs, they gave up baaing after their Mums a couple of months ago when they were weaned. No but by muscular, toned, fit to go and ravish tups. Just hope they are up to it.
Those girls have not seen a fella for a while. Probably scare the latest toy boy to death. Well, at least he would die happy... according to John.
Normally November 5th is the night when explosions and rockets of an amorous nature go off amongst the sheep. But this year we will be away then. First to a wedding in Shropshire and then to Scotland for a few days stalking.
So it is on this weekend, when the clocks go back and darkness falls at an earlier hour, that the first stirrings of romance for the flock will occur.
Well we certainly hope something will be aroused. John will have serious words with the lads if it isn’t.
With nights steadily drawing in and the ducks flying onto our ponds at a civilised hour for duck shooting, it followed that John and his friend Larry set off armed like a pair of cut throat brigands to bring home a few roast dinners.|
The night was clear, the wind was up. Perfect conditions. Except that Pip, our Labrador, overcome with excitement at the prospect of diving into freezing cold, mucky water, would not shut up whining in anticipation.
John was hoping that the wind would carry any sound of gunshots away from the pond as the ducks circled to land. It might have done.
But he thinks it failed to cover up the keening, straining, strangled yelping sounds emitting from Pip. Although that might have been John attempting to throttle her into silence.
But despite Pips best attempt at sabotage, the lads came home with ducks. Keen to avail themselves of a warming drop of whisky in the kitchen after the shoot,they forgot that they had left Pip in charge of their game in the back of the Land Rover.
They won’t do that again.